Page 133 of The Yoga Teacher

“He told me you’d called him,” she said. “Emailed him. For me.”

“I didn’t mean for you to find out about that,” he added. His voice dropped a little. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“I know,” she cut in. Quick. Not harsh. Just sure. “I figured that out.”

He forced himself to meet her eyes. They were tired. Still guarded. But not closed.

“You were always the best of us,” he said softly. “And you’re better now.”

Her lips parted slightly. She didn’t respond.

He wanted to touch her. God, he wanted to touch her. To drop to his knees and beg forgiveness with his hands, his mouth, his body. Not for sex. Not for a second chance. Just togive. Toworshipwhat he had destroyed.

Instead, he stepped back. A breath of space between them. A buffer against the want.

“Anyway,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “I’ll finish up the chairs.”

He turned before she could say anything.

Because if she did—if she gave him a thread of softness—he would stay.

And he didn’t deserve that.

Not yet.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Hannah

HANNAH DUCKED UNDER the barbell, the cold steel pressing into her shoulders. Another five pounds. One breath in. One breath out. She dropped low, thighs catching fire as she pushed back up.

Again.

Again.

She racked the bar with a satisfying clang and stepped back, chest heaving. In the mirror, her reflection stared back—damp hair stuck to her forehead, cheeks flushed, shoulders cut with new definition. A body built through rage and rebuilding. Through choosing herself.

The gym was nearly empty. Just her, the weights, and the scent of sweat and disinfectant. No “gym guy” and his post-workout charm. No strangers hovering too close. Just effort and silence.

She grabbed her water bottle and collapsed onto a bench, sweat cooling on her spine. Her phone buzzed—another text from Morgan about the community garden expansion. Work that mattered. Work that was hers.

Her stomach tightened with feeling.

Not gratitude. Not anger.

Something sharper.

Something hot.

Power.

She wasn’t broken anymore.

She didn’t just look strong anymore. She felt it. Like her body had stopped apologizing for taking up space. A body built through rage and rebuilding. Through choosing herself.

She thought about sex.

About the way Leo and Tristan had both followed her lead without hesitation. The sex hadn’t been emotional, or particularly deep—but it had been good. Simple. Free of history.

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